Building a Mystery
by Dannyblue
Summary: Some things are best kept hidden. (CA)


**Title:** Building a Mystery  
**Author: **Dannyblue  
**Email: **dannyblue2@yahoo.com  
**Rating****: **PG-13  
**Category: **Drama  
**Content: **C/A  
**Summary: **Set in the first season of Angel.  
**Spoilers: **None really.   
**Disclaimer: **The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.  
**Distribution: **Just Fic. Everyone else, all you have to do is ask.  
**Feedback: **Please and thank you.  
**Author's Note: **This story was written for Mab and the Stranger Things Valentine's Day challenge, Bloody Valentine.  And it was a challenge. But a fun one. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
The hiss of the match striking filled the room, teased the air like a whisper.  
  
Angel stared at the flame for one long moment, and let the heat caress his skin. Finally, he touched the match to the wick of the candle, held it there until the flame took hold and started to dance. He blew out the match seconds before the fire touched his fingertips.  
  
"Well, we've still got electricity, so you just lit a candle why?"  
  
Angel didn't turn at the sound of her voice. He didn't have to. He could imagine her standing in the doorway between the two offices, the sunlight at her back casting her in silhouette.  
  
He closed the matchbox and set it on the desk. "Just felt like it," he said in answer to her question.  
  
There was a pause. "Huh. Good a reason as any, I guess. Plus, not like this place can't use as much light as it can get."  
  
"Hmmm." Pushing his hands into his pockets, Angel stared at the candle. It was as thick as his wrist, as deep and red as a ruby's heart. The color pulled at his memories. The way it absorbed the light from the flame until it seemed to glow from the inside. To glisten, like newly spilled blood.  
  
"So, anyway," Cordelia began, "I know you said I could leave an hour early tomorrow, but I was wondering if I could leave about an hour earlier than that. I mean, it's not like we've got clients busting down the door. And I want to spend some extra time getting ready for Christine's Valentine's Day party. If that's okay."  
  
Angel closed his eyes and took a deep, unneeded breath. The tiniest hint of her scent tickled his nose, made his stomach tighten. Called to him across the distance that separated them. She smelled like roses, and sunshine. Like the scarf he kept under his pillow, and sometimes held clenched in his fist when he slept.  
  
"Uh, Angel." She sounded concerned now. Hesitant. He heard her clothes rustle as she took a step inside. "Are you…"  
  
"You can leave as early as you want," he interrupted. "Like you said, we're not exactly busy."  
  
There was a pause. The silence stretched between them like a tangible thing, a shroud falling over the room. He could imagine the frown on Cordelia's face, her mouth opening and closing as she decided whether to say something to him or not. Then a deep, resigned breath as she decided not.  
  
"Okay. Well, thanks." She hesitated another moment before turning to leave, closing the door behind her.   
  
As the door closed, darkness settled around him. On the window separating the offices, the blinds were partially closed. Except for the stray shafts of light that peaked through, the room was filled with shades and shadows. Too dark for anyone but a vampire to see.  
  
Leaving the candle to burn, Angel rounded the desk and sank into the chair behind it. Through the blinds, he watched Cordelia sit at her own desk. For a moment, she cast worried glances at his door. Then, with a sigh, she picked up a magazine and started to read.  
  
Angel's eyes narrowed as he studied her profile. She was leaning forward, her elbows resting on the desktop, a frown on her face as she read. The sun teased the highlights of her hair, made it sparkle and shimmer. She'd pulled the cascade of chestnut waves to one side, so it flowed across her right shoulder. The left side of her neck bare.   
  
His eyes were drawn to the spot, like a moth to a flame. Even from here, he could see her pulse throb beneath her flawless, sun-kissed skin. Could imagine his lips pressing against that skin. His fangs sinking into that warmth. The sweetness flowing across his tongue.  
  
Angel closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his chest, to the heaviness he felt there. Ever since he'd awakened this morning, this strange, tingling heat had settled somewhere behind his cold, unbeating heart. And it kept getting bigger, stronger. Every time she spoke, her voice caressing his ears like a purr. Every time she looked at him, her eyes like a touch on his skin. And, as he watched her, the dream flowed from the shadows of his memory.  
  
Angel reached for the sketchpad that was lying face down on the desk. He turned it over and, even in nothing but candlelight, he could see every detail clearly.   
  
He'd been working on the drawing all morning. Hoping that, if he could capture the dream on paper, it would lose its power. That soft, seductive voice would quit whispering in his head. A voice that taunted him, whispered how easy it would be to make that dream real. That Wesley was gone for the day, and it was just the two of them. And wasn't that why he'd lit the candle?   
  
A shiver raced through his body. The air left his lungs in a shudder. Hours had passed, yet the dream hadn't faded. It was still as vivid, still felt as real.  
  
Candle wax trickling down her naked breast like bloody tears. His lips pressed against hers to catch every scream. His body pressing hers into the mattress. Her skin brushing against his as she struggled beneath him. Her scent mingling with his, her warmth taking away his cold.  
  
Hand shaking, Angel picked up the pencil, unaware of the growl that rumbled in his chest. As he started to add to the sketch, he realized what the drawing was lacking. He'd always preferred to works in blacks and whites and grays, relying on shades and lines to convey emotion, depth. But this one needed color.  
  
Tossing the pencil aside, he reached towards the candle, dipped his finger in the molten wax. Heat seared at his flesh, flowed like lava up his arm, through his body. Even as his eyes watered from the pain, a smile touched his lips. It felt…good.  
  
Red wax dripped from his fingers as Angel pressed his hand against the sketch. As he stroked the wax across the paper, fashioned it into crimson trickles, he could almost imagine he was touching flesh. Could feel the pulse pounding at the base of her throat. The sharpness of her collarbone, the warmth of her breast.  
  
And she was here. Flesh and real, and right outside that door. Strong in mind and spirit, but no match for his physical power. No matter how hard she fought, how hard she struggled, she wouldn't be able to stop him. All he had to do…  
  
"Ahem."  
  
Startled by the sound of a throat clearing, Angel looked up to find that the object of his thoughts had entered without his knowing. He straightened in his seat, rested the sketchpad against his chest so she couldn't see. Hid his hand, wax drying on his skin, beneath the desk.  
  
"What is it, Cordelia?" he asked, voice harsher than he'd meant it to be.  
  
But she didn't seem to notice. Hands behind her back, a sheepish grin on her face, she walked closer to the desk. "Okay, I've been trying to decide whether to give this to you or not all day. But I finally decided what the hell. So, Happy Valentine's Day, one day early!" And she held out her offering.  
  
For a long moment, Angel simply stared at her offering. It was a heart-shaped box, velvet and satin, and a deep, rich red. The top adorned with baby's breath and white lace.  
  
His eyes drank in the color, blood red against her sun-kissed skin. As he reached for the box, grasped its coolness in his hand, he imagined wrapping his hand around her slender, naked wrist instead. Pulling her to him, her body crashing into his. Burying his face in her hair. So lost in her scent and her warmth, he could block out her fear, her screams.  
  
"Okay, I didn't expect you to weep like a baby man the way Wesley did. But some gratitude would be nice."  
  
He looked up into her face, at the expectant smile that pushed away the shadows filling the room. Even as her imaginary screams teased at the edges of his mind.  
  
"Thanks," he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.  
  
"Don't mention it," Cordelia said, nodding in satisfaction. Looking embarrassed but happy, she turned and hurried back to her own office.  
  
After she'd left, Angel sat motionless for a long time. Let his mind play in all the dark places, where he usually wouldn't let it go. Finally, he glanced down at the sketch, and realized it wouldn't be enough.  
  
*****  
  
Angel turned over, until he was lying on his back in the unfamiliar bed. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids and took a slow, deep breath. He felt tired all of a sudden, like he could drift off and sleep for days. The first peaceful sleep he'd had in weeks.  
  
Sighing, he dropped his hands. Turning his head to the side, he stared into her eyes. Beautiful, hazel eyes, now lifeless and cold, staring at him from her pale, bloodless face. That's why he picked her. Her long, chestnut hair didn't have the same shine. Her smile didn't have the same sparkle. Her body didn't have the same wicked curves. But her eyes…Her eyes were perfect.  
  
Rising up onto his side, he pressed his fingertips to the puncture wounds that adorned her throat, surprised by his savagery, the way he'd ripped and torn at her flesh. But his hunger had been sated, the fire burning in his gut quenched. He could put whatever feelings were left back in their box, ignore them like he always did.  
  
Until the next dream.  
  
*****  
  
When she got to work that morning, it took Cordelia a full two minutes to notice the silver box sitting on her desk.   
  
With a curious frown, she picked up the box, studied the intricate, embossed designs. And her mind puzzled over who left it here for her.  
  
_Not Wesley,_ she decided. _He gave me roses and a card. Which only leaves…But it couldn't be…_  
  
Finally, she opened the box. And gasped when she saw the beautiful cameo resting inside.  
  
"Oh, my god!"  
  
*****  
  
Angel smiled when he heard her exclamation. He'd been listening for it. Waiting.   
  
Pleased he'd made her happy, he stood up from his chair. As he rounded the desk, Cordelia burst into his office.  
  
"It's beautiful!" she said, smiling bright enough to light up the room. "Angel, I can't believe…It's just so…" Seemingly unable to find the words, she rose up onto her toes and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you. Thank you so much!"  
  
He wrapped his arms around her, lost himself in her warmth, in her scent. Lowering his head, he buried his face in her hair. Then he whispered, almost too soft for her to hear, "Happy Valentine's Day."  
  
  
  
The End 


End file.
